


Funky Socks

by NightRain712



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 04:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightRain712/pseuds/NightRain712
Summary: On a bad day, Derek makes Stiles feel better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Found this in my archive. It's just a silly thing I wanted to post.

Stiles is having a rough day today. Between Scott’s bullheadedness, Jackson and Harris bullying him (though he won't admit verbally that that is what they're doing,) and just an all around shitty day, well, he's just about had enough today.

When school let's out he heads home, only to see his father's cruiser isn't in the driveway. Signing, he just turns around and drives away, not bothering to go into his house (he's not in the mood to be alone yet.)

Without actively thinking about it, Stiles ends up outside Derek's new apartment, which is located in the opposite direction of all of his previous abodes (the Hale house, the loft and the train car stations.)

He wonders for a quiet moment if this is a good idea, just showing up here, and then he decides, Fuck It. So he exits his beloved jeep and makes his way inside the building.

Derek’s apartment is thankfully on one of the lower floors, so Stiles doesn’t have to climb a bajillion stairs anymore, like he had to at the loft. When he steps up to Derek’s door, no.3B, he tries the handle first, mostly out of habit; it's locked, for once, so he plucks the spare key from it's hiding place inside the door frame.

The apartment is empty (not surprising since the door was locked,) and Stiles makes his way over to the sofa situated in the middle of the living room. He plops down, getting comfy after switching on Derek’s tv, and let's the noise wash over him.

‘I’ll just wait for Derek to get back, and then I can bug him…’ he thinks to himself.

 

Twenty minutes have passed when a light touch to the back of his head startles him awake. He jerks and flails, naturally, and turns his head to see Derek standing just behind him, on the other side of the sofa. Derek is looking at him with an expression that, on anyone else, he would classify as concern. But this is Derek, so it must be something else, of course.

“Stiles?”

Stiles blinks sleepily, realizing Derek has probably already called his name a few times.

“Yaaagh?”

God. What died in his mouth?

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks him. –‘sleeping on my couch, when I'm not home.’ is left unsaid.

“Mmm.” He rubs at his eyes, a little shocked by how dark it got in the little time he was dozing. He yawns and wonders if he should be answering Derek anytime soon.

Nah.

Derek rubs the back of his head, gaining Stiles' attention again, however briefly.

“Stiles, are you alright?”

He licks his dry lips, and wonders why Derek's suddenly voluntarily touching him (in a nonviolent manner.)

“Long day.” He finally says.

Derek purses his lips, and moves away, out of Stiles' line of sight.

“You staying for dinner?” he asks.

Stiles thinks back to the empty driveway he came home to, and how it'll be hours before his dad finishes work and returns, assuming he doesn't decide to pull a double, that is…

“Yeah. What're we having?”

Derek answers him, but he isn't really listening, so the reply goes in one ear and out the other.  
The tv distracts him with it's general tv-ness, but he isn't really paying attention to that either.

After a while, Derek comes back into the room with two plates piled with food (baked ziti, it seems) and he promptly snatches the remote from the cushion next to Stiles. He changes the show (not even asking Stiles if he was still watching, which he wasn’t, but still. Rude!) and puts on some something, maybe a movie, or a documentary, and digs into his food.

Halfway through his own (delicious) plate, Stiles notices something from the corner of his eye. It twitches, and he turns his head to see Derek's feet resting on the coffee table. At some point, Derek removed his shoes, and for the first time ever, Stiles can see his socks.

Derek looks at him, an eyebrow raised in question, his normal default gloomy look in place, and Stiles brings his forkful of food the rest of the way to his mouth quickly, chewing with gusto and averting his eyes.

“What?” 

“Nothing! Nothing at all!” Stiles nearly stammers, his cheeks hot.

Derek glowers at him and he looks back to his feet. Bright orange, little swirling patterns. A stain on the left one, halfway up, and one toe completely sharpied black.

Stiles snorts, trying to contain his bubbling laughter before it gets too bad, and Derek's eyebrows lower with his raising confusion.

“What, Stiles.” He mutters.

“It's just, your socks, man!” He bites his lip, his food tipping dangerously to the side in his hands, and grins impishly when Derek follows his gaze to socks, which are so colorful they're almost electric.

Derek's already low eyebrows lower impossibly more, and he glares at Stiles like it's somehow his fault he's wearing what are possibly girl's socks.

“Don’t.” Derek says lowly.

Stiles closes his mouth. When Derek looks away, he opens it again.

“Were they Cora's?”

“Stiles!” Derek barks.

“Or did she just pick them out for you?!”

Derek growls and Stiles howls in laughter. Derek snatches his food from him, which only frees his hands to clutch his stomach. 

“Has Erica asked you yet to borrow them?!”

“Shut up, Stiles!”

“Ooh, ooh! Maybe you guys can do each other's hair and nails soon!”

When he looks up, Derek doesn’t look nearly as mad as he sounded. If anything, he seems… amused, relieved? Something. Something good.

Stiles laughs until his ribs ache, calling out good natured jibes as they occur to him, until he's wheezing for breath. When he can finally settle, and his laughter has quieted, Derek finally relaxes. 

Stiles sees his food, captured by the enemy and being held hostage, and makes grabbing hands for it. Derek, the traitor, stretches to hold it away, out of his reach.

“Come on, give me my food!” he whines at Derek, reaches pitifully for the food that’s so so far away now.

“Why should I?” Derek asks. “You made fun of my socks.”

“Because I’m hungry!” He says.

“Not so hungry if you can mock someone.”

“Derek!”

“Maybe I should just eat this myself, how about that.”

“You wouldn't dare!” he gasps.

Derek raises of forkful of ziti to his mouth slowly, and Stiles zips over and closes his lips around the metal tines first, smiling triumphantly. He pulls away to chew and sees the shock on Derek's eyes. He only grins.

“Can I help you?” Derek asks rhetorically.

“Yeah, you can give me my food back.” Stiles replies.

Derek frowns at him.

“Well since I bought and made this food, technically its mine.”

“Well technically you gave it to me, so its mine. Now gimme!”

Derek pulls a face, like he's thinking about it seriously. “No.” he cruelly decides.

“Fine.” Stiles says.

A moment later, he lets his full weight flop into Derek, his face resting in his stomach and his arms wound too tightly around Derek's slim waist.  
Derek grunts, reflexively moving the food out of harms way.

“What are you doing, Stiles?”

“Mhmmohhmfldifhdjd.”

“What?”

“I said,” Stiles lifts his head out from Derek's abs to enunciate. “You leave me no choice. Your body is now my personal pillow until the food has been released back to me.”  
Derek growls at him, shoving his head, and Stiles burrows it back into his warmth.  
“Stiles!”

Stiles does not reply. Not in words at least.  
No, he bites at Derek's surprisingly soft stomach.

Derek yelps, though he'll probably deny it, being the manly man that he is, and shoves harder at Stiles.

Stiles twists until he's face up, his head cushioned on Derek's thighs, and opens his mouth.

Derek frowns at him.

“Now what are you doing?”

“Feed me.”

“No.”

“Come one! You stole my dinner! Now feed me, Ikki!”

Derek rolls his eyes and growls, probably missing Stiles' awesome reference completely, but a moment later food is shoved unceremoniously into his still waiting mouth.

He nearly chokes out of equal parts surprise and shock, but somehow manages to keep the food where it belongs. Barely.  
Derek smirks at the look Stiles is sending him, choosing instead to eat his food.

One bite finished, mouth open again, and Derek looks surprised.

At his raised brow, Stiles merely opens his mouth wider. Forget dignity. Stiles is determined to finish his meal this way now, with Derek literally feeding him bites of the baked ziti he cooked (possibly even cooked for him!)

With much huffing and puffing (on Derek's end,) they both finish a lukewarm meal, neither paying too much attention to tv playing in the background.

When they finish, Derek piles both plates atop each other and leans over Stiles (completely suffocating him with his stomach!) to put them on the coffee table. Stiles grumbles at him, complaining about being a puny human who still needs to breathe.

“Then move.” Derek growls at him in reply.

“No way, Jose. Or should I say, Miguel? I like where I am just fine, thanks.”

Derek frowns at him, but makes no move to actively dislodge him, so Stiles resettles, getting cozy.

“Hey, anyone ever tell you, you make a good pillow?”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

He doesn't, not for some time, but Derek's hand settles in his hair, occasionally petting him, and by then they're both half asleep, the tv a nice hum in the background.  
All in all, it's turned into a good night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go! Enjoy! :). Or don't. You soulless bastard.

In the morning, he wakes up alone on the couch, with a blanket thrown over him, and a pillow shoved under his head. He's so warm and cozy, it takes him a while to gather the motivation to open his eyes and search for his phone.

Sitting on the coffee table, which is bereft of dirty dishes, is his phone.

He fumbles for it and drops it before pulling it towards his face.

A missed call from his dad, with a couple texts to go with it, and it's currently 10 am, with a slight chance of rain.

From dad:  
Stiles, where are you?

Call me back.

Derek texted me you're spending the night at his house. You're Lucky It’s a Friday.

You Better Call Me When You Wake Up.

 

And then, just before midnight:

From dad:  
Sleep well son.

 

Stiles rubs the sleep from his eyes and presses the call button, letting it start ringing before bringing it to his ear.

“Stiles?” his dad picks up after a couple of rings, and Stiles can hear the familiar sounds of the police station in the background.

“Hey dad.”

“Are you just getting up?”

“Uh, well I don’t know about getting up yet, but I’m awake. Sorry I didn’t tell I was staying here. I just kinda fell asleep.”

“Hmm.. That's alright, Derek told me. Just try to make more of effort to let me know where you are from now on, okay?”

“Yeah, I will. Sorry.”

“So what are your plans for the day then? Are you gonna go see Scott?”

Stiles shrugs, then remembers he has to speak aloud, his dad wasn't in the same room.

“Maybe, I don’t know yet. I'll probably just stay here until Derek kicks me out.”

“Hmm.” Stiles could practically feel his dad frowning at him. “Well, don't stay too long if he has other plans. You know what I told you about intruding on other people's time and space.”

“Always ask first.”

Stiles had to will himself not snort, because neither he nor Derek had ever respected each other's boundaries, let alone asking permission for something first.  
No, when it came to the two of them, they had some kind of unspoken understanding of “barge in first, never ask second, and forget about apologies and forgiveness altogether.”  
Somehow, it worked for them, so Stiles wasn’t too worried about being here in Derek's space, technically uninvited.

“Alright, I got to get back to work now, son. I'll talk to you later.”

“Sure thing pops, give Parrish my love.”

This time Stiles was positive his dad rolled his eyes before hanging up.

Replacing his phone back to the coffee table, he settles back in to the couch, getting comfy, and listens to the vague noises of the apartment. He can hear water running from the bathroom, so it's a good bet Derek's in the shower. Stiles' bladder will just have to wait then.

 

It's another twenty minutes before Derek emerges from the bathroom, and Stiles is laying in limbo somewhere between sleep and dying to pee.

"Are you just gonna lay there all day?"

Derek's voice drifts out to him from the kitchen and Stiles is shocked back into awareness. "Huh?" He mumbles.

"I know you're awake," Derek says. "I heard you on the phone with your dad."

"Oh. Yeah, I'll be getting up."

"Hmm. What do you want to eat?"

"Whatever's good." He says.

Derek begins cooking and Stiles makes a dash for the bathroom when he feels the need, and afterwards comes to bother him in the kitchen.

Derek is shirtless cooking, with some sleep pants and socks on, and nothing else. It amuses Stiles to see he's changed socks. This pair is a bright neon green, with wavy black stripes.

He tries not to laugh at them. Much.

"What?" Derek growls.

"Hmm? What?" Stiles jumps slightly when Derek turns to look him.

"You're staring at me."

"Well, not really you, so much as your socks."

"Oh geez."

"Seriously, Derek, they're bright neon! Did you think I wouldn't look at them?"

"I don't see why you're making this a big deal. They're just socks."

"Those are not just socks! Those are neon socks!"

"So."

"So?! So?!?! So, Derek, you are like, the king of dark colors! I think the brightest I've ever seen you was that maroon shirt you wore one time. One!"

"Stiles."

"It's weird, and funny. Seeing you in such colorful socks."

"Oh my god get over it!" Derek facepalms.

"Never!" Stiles crows. "As long as the day is long, if you are wearing socks of a non black or white variety, then I shall never get over it!"

Derek just rubs at his eyes.

"It's too early for this." He mutters.

Stiles just laughs at him.


End file.
